


Beg the Honor of Your Touch

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwood's watching him closely - of course he is, that's the whole point of this little exercise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beg the Honor of Your Touch

Blackwood's watching him closely - of course he is, that's the whole point of this little exercise. That Blackwood watch, the weight of his gaze as heavy and tangible as his hands, leaving marks like bruises, like kisses, like shadows on Coward's skin as he strokes himself, presents himself to Blackwood and teases, taunts, begs for a single touch with every curve of his wrist as his hand slides up the length of his cock, ghosts down with the barest of touches, just enough to make his legs spread restlessly and his breath still in his lungs, before it's released, slow and soundlessly.

Begs for the sound of Blackwood leaning forward with every nuzzling, mindless turn of his head, pressing his cheek into the sheets, mouthing things like _please_ and _oh_ and _yes, yes, yes_ against the fine imported cotton, staining it with his words, spilling like blood, like spit, like come after Blackwood fucks his mouth. Turning his eyes to the light, sightless, blank, blown out to black, stretching out the line of his neck, waiting for the skin to peel back under the strain, expose the ligaments and bone and shining blood, seeping into his hair and staining the pillow every time he turns his head, this way, that, seeking something to still the need inside him.

Begs for Blackwood's words, for his 'Yes' and 'Come' and yet, they don't come, don't sound, soft and low beneath the whines and guttural, breaking sounds Coward is uttering, is fighting to hold back because he knows Blackwood prefers him silent, prefers some control in some aspect of him.

They don't come. Instead, as he grows closer and closer, feels his body tightening, trembling, plucked, Blackwood says "Stop," and he tries, he tries, he snatches his hand away, leaves it spread and shaking in the air as his hips buck upward, but he's too late, too late, and Blackwood lunges forward, faster than he can follow and hits him, blow snapping his head to the side, blood filling his mouth as he comes, the rush of pain and pleasure overwhelming, intertwining, inseparable.

Blackwood's angry; is furious, and he should be doing something to placate him, should be down on his knees, on his stomach, pressing his bleeding lips to Blackwood's shoes, but he can't, he's still caught in that mindless space, his body twisting and shuddering, come cooling on his stomach.

"I told you to stop," Blackwood growls, and draws his fingers across Coward's lips; Coward licks at them, wet and wanting them in his mouth, down his throat, choking him and stroking his tongue, but Blackwood pulls them away.

Presses two into him, swift, near dry, and Coward gasp, groans at the invasion, his body still spasming around them. Blackwood twists them, spreads them, pulls them almost all the way out and rams them back in, too fast and too hard and rasping against his skin, catching and dragging at it. He adds another, turns them and curls them inside Coward's arse, tugging at the skin, pulling at his hole, and it's pure violence, his hands, rubbing and pushing and spreading him open mercilessly, provoking shudders as the skin protests. Everything is limned with bright, sharp edges, the haze from his orgasm still singing in his blood, still pumping in his breast, and every sensation is doubled, tripled, turned to pain and pain and _pain_ , pain so sharp and blinding it becomes pleasure again.

And then Blackwood slaps him. Draws his hand back, to the level of his shoulder, and swings it down, swift and certain; Coward's nose screams in agony and he can feel the blood running down the divot of his lip, can feel it clogging his breath, drowning it. He gasps, moans, and his hips buck hard as his cock attempts to rise again.


End file.
